But the eleven are always the same.
The twelfth knows a secret. The twelfth knows a command the children cannot break, names passed down a hundred years since the last time the ritual failed, the last time the cows died on their feet and rotted standing in the fields, the last season the adults woke up to missing sons and daughters and to fields of burning grass. Today the twelfth has never known this fear, and still they chase their duty.
For the twelfth knows how to find them, and the twelfth knows how to tell.
Not all children in the Grove are human, and only those who speak the names can see.
Only those who speak the names can hold the cycle for another year.
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